: About Me

Fellow writers, Recently I was skimming over some of my articles, and I truly must apologize for my mispellings. I didn't realize I was making so many. It tells me to check it, but my brain goes faster than my fingers and I don't even see them for for sometimes way later. I know this counts against me and I will try to be more careful in the future. I think Helium is one of the greatest sites on the computer. I can't pick a favorite author because authors are as individual as leaves on a tree, and each just as unique. To each his own. I don't know if this is the place to mention it but I also have a site on poetrypoem.com/thepilgrim. I hope some will visit me there too! It's not one of those vanity places, that's what makes it good too. A lot of interesting authors over there too. Helium being my first choice though. I would like to know how to read feedbacks if any and or meet some of the fellow authors too. Not being too educated on the cp I do need guidance. So feel free to criticize and or help. Thank you. Now read on to meet me.
I am N.Lee Austin, aka/the pilgrim, poet, soap4brains, and a few other pet names. I am a little nervous about joining the flock, however, I've been writing for around forty years. Even when I try to stop something comes along and my mind is whirling. I'm sure you all know the feeling.
I grew up in a small town, the tenth child of fifteen. We lived in a five room house, built mostly by mother and us kids as daddy was working all the time. Daddy did odd jobs around town, one of which was tearing down buildings and that is what our house was made of. Lumber that had already served it's purpose, so even though the house is fifty six years old, the lumber , well that's a different story. I remember days of taking out old nails and stacking the boards according to their goodness. The nails were put in coffee cans and when we ran out of boards to clean, we would straighten nails. I was a year old when they bought the property so I wasn't born there.
My five younger brothers were though. Ma was pregnant with brother Rod, so daddy built the first part of the house out of an old John Deere garage. That way ma would have a place indoors to have the baby. That was the only part of the house he laid claim to. We knew nothing of birthing or even how babies happened at that time, all I remember is ma going in and laying down for a rest, and a few minutes later there was a crying baby next to her and then she got up and made supper.
Over the years I've come to realize or rather be convinced that that house was built on pure love and faith. Any carpenter will tell you that there is no reason on this earth for that place to still be standing. It doesn't have a solid foundation, that's what they think. However the foundation hangs right at the entrance. A picture of the Lord. That is the foundation. Of all the wicked storms that should have flattened that house years ago, have just seem to skip right over it. Many called it a shack, but we called it home. It's still home. Progress is it's only threat now. I've heard of places being protected just for their historical value. If I had a goal, it would be to protect it from being destroyed. I am hoping or have hoped that through my writing I could bring it some historical value. I don't know if I am good enough to accomplish that.
I am a grandmother of eight, and I usually find myself involved in children's projects one way or another. When my mom got the cancer, and emotions were at their all time high, she sent for me, number ten, she sent for me twice, so I put aside my differences and went by her bedside. She could hardly speak but through her actions I figured out she wanted my old doll that was on her bed, she wanted me to place it in her left arm. As I did that she took my left hand with her right, my children had joined me and we held hands in a chain like matter. Her last words to me were, "Take care of the little ones." Then totaly unexpected by me she let go of her spirit and went on to be with God. Why she chose me is a puzzle that is coming together piece by piece. Some of the answers have been made clear but there are many more that I haven't received yet.
Growing up in such a large family, had it's ups and downs, but I mostly grew up in the middle of the eight boys, where as my six sisters were older and married. Imagine this, mom was pregnant five times with her daughters. I find that hillarious. Brother Tom was the first to graduate with his niece, the oldest grandchild.
I hope that as I write you will actually find out who I am and maybe I will too! Thank You, N. Lee Austin 2007
p.s. I will put a picture up when I find one suitable.I'm very new at this and it says that the word totally is spelled wrong but I don't know how to fix it. Sorry

My passion is ...

To discover my purpose.

I know too much about ...

things i don't like, people who hurt children.

My parents always told me ...

I was different, out of fifteen I don't know how they could tell.

My childhood ambition ...

To make my parents proud.

My favorite memory ...

Learning my letters by writing in the dew dampened sand with the morning sun on my back, listening to the old Maytag start the days wash.

Why I write ...

I can't stop thinking, I've spent seven days wide awake just with my thoughts.

What I am reading/watching/listening to ...

My feelings.

My first job ...

Waiting on cars at the local root beer stand.

My best moment ...

Seeing the little faces on my new born babies.

My inspiration ...

My Lord, my parents, my children.

Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Memorial Day

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For Those Who Kept Her Free If you took the red stripes, Off all the flags, Flying over America, Would there be enough stripes, To absorb the blood, Of those who kept her free ? If you took the white stripes, Off all the flags, Flying over America, Would there be enough cloth, To wipe the brow, Of those who kept her free? If you took the blue field, Off all the flags, Flying over America, Would it be large enough, To hold the tears, Of those who kept her free? And... If you took all the stars, Off all the flags, Flying over America, Would there be a star, One for each soul, Of those who ke...

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